Something Different
by gotatheory
Summary: During the Missing Year, Hook doesn't leave right away, and instead stays at the castle with the Charmings and Regina. He and Regina discover they have a little more in common than they thought, and find a way together to cope with their feelings.


_A while ago, someone over on Tumblr asked me to write romantic Hooked Queen because I ship it, and I finally decided to post it over here. Fair warning, there is background mentions of Outlaw Queen and Captain Swan._

* * *

The first time it happens, it's after a council meeting. He doesn't really say much during them, just hangs around the fringes of the rooms, drinking out of a flask and occasionally offering a sarcastic comment. It's not really about _him_ though—they've been back in the Enchanted Forest for a few months now, and Regina's mind won't stop buzzing between trying to deal with her wicked sister and trying to get Snow to stop looking at her like she might break and trying to get that damn thief and his men out of her castle.

(They won't go, of course, Snow has invited them to stay. Regina doesn't want them to go, anyway, not really. Not when there's a child to keep safe, as well.)

But her temper is raised, because the thief is insufferable and Snow and Charming think he should always sit in on their meetings, he knows so much about forests and the dangers that lurk there, _stop being so prickly Regina, he's perfectly nice_.

Regina sticks around the council room after everyone has gone, balling her hands into fists on top of the table, fighting the urge to scream or destroy things with magic.

"Look like you could use a drink, love," he says, and she starts, hands slamming flat on the wooden table, hard enough her palms sting, as she gasps out loud. He's right next to her, holding out his flask, something like a smirk on his face.

She regains her composure, schools her features into her disdainful mask. She sniffs, "No thank you. I don't do rum."

Hook rolls his eyes at her, takes a swig from the flask, and ungracefully sits down in the chair next to her. "Fine, since you don't want a drink, perhaps you'd like to talk," he suggests, and that earns him an impossibly more disdainful glare. "You know, I miss them too."

"You have no idea what I'm missing," she growls, levels the full weight of her Evil Queen glare at him. And she's not going to discuss this with him, she's absolutely not. It's bad enough that Snow tries, bad enough that that thief tries, she refuses to talk about it with the pirate. He knows nothing about the grief she carries in her heart, and she's certainly not about to share it.

He sighs heavily, says, "Fine. But I think you're forgetting how similar we are, Your Majesty."

She wants to protest, but she remembers Neverland, and thinks about _villains don't get happy endings_ and things that happened thirty years ago, about fathers and revenge. Saying nothing seems like the better option, so she grits her teeth and keeps her gaze on him. Won't give him the benefit of looking away.

"What shall we talk about, then? Perhaps a certain thief who can't seem to keep his eyes off of you?"

Regina feels her jaw clench. This is what she gets for the occasional smart remark she made about Hook's pining for Emma Swan, she supposes. But she has no desire to talk to Hook—or anyone—about Robin Hood and his apparent fascination with her. She stands, pushing away from the table and preparing to leave this room when the pirate drawls:

"Or perhaps we don't have to talk at all."

She doesn't know why she hesitates—except she does know, the phantom memory of a tryst in her carriage coming to the forefront of her mind, and the buzzing in her mind that won't stop, and the smell of forest and eyes that are too blue and too filled with concern for her. Her heart beats heavily in her chest, and she just wants it to stop for a moment, wants to stop feeling so much at once.

So she stays, and her voice is low and silky when she asks, "But what would we do, _pirate_?"

* * *

Afterwards, they agree that the one time will be it—or rather, Regina insists upon it as she climbs off of him, righting her skirts and corset, her hair disheveled from its complicated updo. Hook is still on his back on the table, breathing heavily, and he chuckles at her declaration. "Right, love, just this once," he agrees, but he's still laughing, and Regina's sure he's laughing at her. Doesn't matter, because this is just a momentary weakness, an itch she needed to scratch to shut up the voices in her head for a little while.

Two weeks later, and she's pulling him into a library, pressing his back into the door as she presses her mouth to his. For a second, he doesn't know what to do, his hand fluttering behind her back and his hook digging into the wooden door. But then he comes into the moment, opens his mouth and lets his tongue tangle with hers, completely willing to forget that they'd agreed this wasn't happening again. She breaks away from the kiss, starts sucking kisses down his jaw, and his head is swimming, she's pulling him deeper into the library, shoving him against a table.

She's muttering between kisses, between her hands plucking at his clothes. He can just barely make it out from the pulse of desire beating in his ears—"That damn _thief_ —he's so _smug_ —insufferable—" She's kissing him again, one hand at his jaw and the other in his hair, fisting there almost hard enough to hurt, but he's heard enough.

Robin Hood has said or done something, obviously—Killian thinks he should thank the man, since he's getting to reap the benefits of whatever teasing he's put the Queen through.

Regina's got his jacket haphazardly pushes from his shoulders, one of her hands sneaking under his shirt, nails scratching down his chest while she pulls his head back, baring his throat to her mouth. She nips and sucks her way down, drags her teeth along his exposed collarbone, and he can't help the groan that escapes him.

He opens his eyes, looks down at dark hair pulled into some ridiculous ponytail, and he tries very hard not to think about loose blonde hair and chapped lips and the damp smell of Neverland's forest. He focuses instead on the bite of Regina's teeth at his rapidly thudding pulse in his throat, and the musty smell of books around him, and the luxurious feel of her corset's fabric against his hand as he starts pulling at the ties.

The second encounter ends much like their first: Regina climbing off of him and leaving him on a table, insisting that this won't happen again. He laughs.

* * *

Regina has lost count now of how many times it has happened, of how many times she has insisted _this is the last time_. Sometimes she seeks him out (always after a confrontation with _the thief_ , the one who looks at her like he understands too well what she's going through, the one with the son that reminds her so much of her own, the one with _the lion tattoo_ , God help her), and sometimes he finds her instead (a little drunk, drinking heavily from his flask or a bottle of liquor he's pilfered from the kitchens, and she's sure he's thinking of a certain blonde, and she thinks that should bother her more than it does but instead it makes her feel better, makes her feel less guilty for fighting with Robin Hood and then finding him).

Tonight, he comes to her, knocks and knocks and knocks on her bedchambers until she lets him in, and they've never done this in her chambers before. Darkened corners of the castle, rooms unused and forgotten, or his room, but never hers. She likes being able to be the one to leave, though she's sure she'll have no qualms about kicking him out.

But she lets him in, even lets him tangle his hand into her hair and pull her in for a sloppy kiss. He seems more upset than usual, she can taste the liquor on his tongue, and he's kissing her hard, wet, without any of his usual finesse. Regina pulls back, trying to look him in the eye but he avoids her gaze, nips at her jaw instead.

"Hey," she says, her fingers gripping at his hair, lightly tugging to urge him back. "Wait a minute."

He grunts out something that sounds like _no_ , keeping his head down as he flicks his tongue out at the sensitive spot at the place where her jaw meets her neck. He doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to think at the moment, wants to lose himself in this instead.

"Hook— _Killian_ , what's going on?" she gasps out, still affected by his attentions to her neck even as she worries about what this is.

He stills—she never calls him Killian, never really calls him anything during their trysts. Pirate, maybe, Hook sometimes, but never his true name. He exhales heavily against her skin, his brow pressed into her shoulder. "Regina," he breathes, his breath ghosting over skin, a shiver crawling down her spine. "Can we—I don't want to talk—"

It's absolutely not fair for Regina to stop this. Every time he's tried to question her, she's stopped him, shut him up with her mouth or her hands or the grind of her hips, but this—it's different. It's different when _she's_ the one doing this and when he's the one doing it.

"You seem… upset," she tries, and he groans in frustration.

"How come when you don't want to talk, it's perfectly okay for you to shove your tongue down my throat, but when I don't want to talk, all you want to do is talk?" He levels something like a glare at her, but she's hardly impressed by it.

"Because I'm the Queen, and I do what I want," she replies, her voice cold, even as she reaches for his jaw, almost tenderly running her thumb along the line of it. "What's gotten you in this mood tonight?"

"I—" He huffs out a breath, shakes his head. "I really just want a good fuck right now, Regina. Can we do that?"

That's what this is supposed to be, what their relationship is. A good fuck to relieve the tension, scratch the itch. Make them forget about who they really want, what they're really missing. (She will not think of Robin Hood and his son, or her own son right now, or the way her heart heaves with so many desperate, impossible desires she will not name.)

Except that's not all their relationship is. She doesn't know when it shifted, at what point this became less about physical comfort and more about an emotional one, but here they are. He looks near tears, so angry, so burdened, and she just… she wants to help, but she doesn't think her usual methods of helping will work this time.

Killian sighs again, lets go of her so he can fully enter her room, and pace the floor. "I was thinking about… thinking about Emma. As usual," he chuckles without an ounce of humor. "But I—it's been so long—I can't… I can't quite remember what she sounds like." He barely whispers it, her ears straining to catch it.

"Oh," she exhales sharply, and she gets it. She does. She's constantly playing memories of Henry over and over in her head, holding on to every detail that she can, refusing to forget one thing. It's exhausting, it's why she needs these encounters with him, to give her mind a break (and to resolve at least some of the tension between her and _the thief_ ).

"And I just need—I need to stop thinking about how I can't remember quite what her voice sounds like," he says, looking at her with a certain amount of desperation, and she swallows hard. Nods once.

She reaches for him, pulls him into her kiss, and it's—well, it's softer than she means it. More gentle, coaxing at first, and then she lets her tongue flick out over his lips, lets the passion build and grow. Soon, she's fisting a hand in his hair as their tongues slide against each other, and the other hand goes to his waist, pulling him flush against her.

He groans against her mouth, and when she tugs his head back, he fights her. His hand is in her hair now, his mouth going to her neck as he tries to pull _her_ head back, and she fights.

"Whoa, pirate, what do you think you're doing?" she says, pushing him back from her. "I'm in charge, here."

"Oh, come now, Your Majesty," he murmurs, leans in close, smirking at her. "Let me lead for once."

"I don't think so," Regina retorts with an arched eyebrow. She slots her Evil Queen mask into place, even though she's not got any of her armor on right now. No makeup, no intimidating dresses, her hair in a simple braid she plaited for bed. "Especially not in my bedroom, _pirate_."

She moves then, one hand going to the back of his neck while the other lands on his chest, holding him into place as she kisses him. It's all tongue and teeth, and he groans again, his hand wrapping around her shoulders while his other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against him. Regina's the one moaning this time, gasping as his mouth moves down her jaw, her neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat as she grinds her hips against him.

He's already hard for her, she can feel his erection through his trousers and the thin material of her nightgown, and she wants him, presses harder against him and moans again just so he knows it. Regina plucks at his shirt, pulls it over his head, and he takes the cue to begin undressing her. He pushes her robe to the floor, pulls her nightgown off her shoulders and lets it fall to their feet.

He pauses for a moment, stops to look at her—despite the number of times he's slept with her, Killian can count the number of times he's seen her completely naked on his one good hand. And he's never quite seen her like this, completely disarmed and almost vulnerable, looking impossibly younger. She's a beautiful sight to behold, and when he reaches for her, kissing her again, it's softer, his tongue gently slipping between her lips and into her mouth.

Regina sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him as his hand slides from her neck to her chest. He kneads one breast, his fingers expertly cupping her, rolling her nipple as he kisses and kisses her. He's still half-dressed, she got distracted when he was undressing her, and he's only further distracting her by the way he's now kissing a path down to her unattended breast. But she focuses, drags her nails down his back in the gentle scratches she knows he enjoys (she smirks when he groans into her skin) to the waistband of his trousers, lets her fingers tickle the skin as she moves to the front to the fasteners.

Once he's naked, and toed out of his boots, she's pulling him toward the bed, turning them around so she can push him onto his back. She smirks down at him, at the lust-filled look in his eyes as he gazes at her body, and then she's crawling over him, plants kisses up his abdomen until she's straddling him. She captures his mouth when she gets to his face, kisses him deeply and rolls her hips against him, lets him feel how slick she already is.

His hand is on her back, stroking up and down her spine, and then suddenly he's flipping them, and he's kissing down her chest, down her stomach. "I want to taste you," he murmurs into her skin, briefly raising his gaze to meet hers, his tongue flicking against her navel as Regina inhales sharply, nodding.

She doesn't let him do this often—it seems too intimate, and she's not too fond of giving, so it seems unfair to ask him for this—but she wants it tonight, wants to feel his tongue against her. Regina moves to adjust their positions again, she wants to be the one in control, but Killian lays an arm against her hips.

"No, like this, Your Majesty," he says softly, brows knitting together in something like a plea.

Regina tenses up, considers saying no, but then she remembers how desperately he needs this, and she's willing to cede this much control. "For now," she allows, and he nods, resuming his kisses. He shifts down the bed, and she widens her thighs for him, lets him settle between them as he dips his head. At the first touch of his mouth, she gasps, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue lightly slides over her folds.

"So wet, love," he mutters against her, and then his tongue drags with more purpose, collects her on his tongue for him to savor.

He's surprisingly good at this, better than Regina would have thought a pirate would be, his lips wrapping around her clit and sucking until she's bucking against him, writhing for him. He pulls back, flicking his tongue against her, and then slides it down, circling her entrance before slipping inside of her. Regina moans for him, lights up, gasping and clutching at the bedsheets as he pushes her closer and closer to her peak.

Her hand finds his head, grips his hair, and she's ordering, "My clit—suck," broken moans spilling from her as he continues to fuck her with his tongue for a few moments. "Oh God, I'm so close, God… suck my clit, I need—" He listens, finally, finally sucks her clit between his lips, sucking hard, wordlessly urging her to come, and she gasps as her orgasm crashes over her, crying out, " _Killian_!" as she shudders with the force of it.

When she's stopped trembling, she's aware that he's hovering over her, pressing kisses to her breastbone, tongue gently flicking over her skin, tasting her sweat. He glances up, sees her eyes open and a little more focused now, and he moves up to kiss her lips. Regina moans as she tastes herself, and then she's the one turning them, pressing him back into the sheets.

He goes easily, smirks up at her as his hand finds her hip, sliding up to cup her breasts, plucking at her nipples and smirking wider when she gasps at the pleasure pinging through her.

Regina reaches for him then, stroking his cock as she straddles him, and it's her turn to smirk when he moans at the rhythm of her hand. She slides him through her wetness, coating him, and then lines him up, sinking down on him. They both moan at that, at the slow slide of him inside of her, stretching her, the way she takes him in all the way. And then she's riding him, moving her hips, slow at first and then gaining momentum.

"That's it, love," he urges, head grinding back into the pillows as he thrusts up into her, both of them moaning and gasping as pleasure radiates through their bodies. "Ride me just like that…"

Regina bends forward, lets her breasts press into his chest as she kisses him, one hand fisting the bedding beneath them, the other at his neck, holding him in place as they kiss and kiss. She breaks away on a particularly sharp pulse of pleasure, gasping as his hand finds her clit, his thumb rubbing against her. She shifts just a bit on top of him, changes the angle just slightly, her eyes rolling in her head as his cock bumps against that spot inside of her.

"Fuck, Regina, you feel so good," he groans out. "Are you going to come again?"

She nods, fuck yes, she can feel it building, she's thrusting faster and he's pressing up harder against her, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. God, oh fuck, she's going to come again for him, just like this…

"Let me hear you, love," he requests, and she's moaning louder for him.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so close," she tells him, lets the words fall easily from her mouth. "I'm gonna come, fuck, right there—Killian!"

He groans as she comes, as she tightens and clenches around him, his eyes locked on her face as she has her pleasure. "Fuck, so gorgeous," he grunts, moving his hand to her hip, gripping her there as he bucks into her, one, twice, a few more times before he's coming inside of her.

She slumps over him, breathing heavily for a moment. Once he starts softening inside of her, she moves off him, falls a little gracelessly to the side as her limbs feel heavy with satisfaction.

For a moment, they're silent, and it's comfortable until something shifts. They've never spent this long together in the afterglow, and suddenly neither of them knows what to do. Killian moves first, starts scooting away, sliding his arm out from under her—they were almost cuddling, and _that's_ new, and scary, and Regina feels her walls slotting into place.

But whereas she's usually the first to speak, to say _this won't happen again_ , instead he speaks. "I'll… see you at breakfast," he says awkwardly, and this too is unusual. They're not usually this off their game, but they're definitely off-balance, a little more unguarded.

He gets dressed, gets all the way to the door before she's asking, "Would you… like to stay? And maybe… talk about it?"

The _it_ is unsaid, but he knows what she means. Emma. Henry. The way she avoids Snow, the way _he_ avoids the Charmings, perhaps even whatever it is she's doing or trying to avoid doing with Robin Hood. He hesitates, looks over his shoulder at her, thinking her offer over.

"I thought this wasn't a relationship?" he says, because that is the one thing they've spoken about, the terms and conditions of their sleeping together.

"It's not. But perhaps we could use someone to talk to, as well," she murmurs, not meeting his eyes as she picks at a thread on the rumpled bedsheets.

Killian watches her, and then he's nodding. He comes back to the bed and takes a seat, and Regina's sitting up, pulling the sheet to cover her. "So shall you start, or shall I?" he asks, and Regina takes a deep breath.

Everything changes with that night. Regina still carries the grief of losing her son, lets it blanket her like a second skin, and she still fights with the Charmings, and she still tries to keep from letting Robin Hood get too close. Hook still drinks, still wishes he could find a way back to the Land Without Magic, to Emma.

And the day will come where he'll decide to leave, where eventually staying on land and locked in a castle is too much for him. He will kiss Regina goodbye, and apologize, but he's almost lost all of Emma now and he needs to find his way back to her. Regina lets him go without any rancor, because all she wants is to find a way back to Henry, would rip entire realms apart if it meant she could get her son back. In Killian's absence, she will find herself fighting with the thief more and more, will find his adorable son worming his way deeper into her heart despite how she fights it, will find his father doing the same.

And eventually, Killian will find his way to Emma. Regina will get Henry back. And they will find their happiness.


End file.
